Damn the Rain
by Ann Valentine
Summary: Doesn't it figure it always rains on important days?


Dammit . . . 

It would rain today, wouldn't it? Today, of all days. 

I shift uncomfortably, cursing my high heels. Someday, when I've mastered time travel, I will go back in time and murder whoever invented heels. 

I wipe the condensation off my watch and check it. Half-past three. Stupid bus should've been here ten minutes ago. Can't trust Muggle transportation, no consideration. I don't even know why I'm taking the infernal thing, I passed the Apparation test two years ago. 

I guess I'm just stupid that way. 

The bus finally rolls to a stop in front of us, and we hurry on, taking care to run between the raindrops. I pay my fare and go up to the top level, choosing a window seat in the back. No one takes much notice of me, which I'm grateful for. I need to be alone with my thoughts right now. 

As I am thinking, the bus starts up again, driving slowly through the soaked streets of London. I look out my window, cataloging the sights. I've never been in Muggle London. There's Westminster Abbey . . . and Parliament, Big Ben . . . Tower Bridge . . . that must be the Tower of London over there . . . It's all incredibly fascinating. I must come back here and explore on foot. 

The Thames is so grey and choppy today. I wonder what it looks like on a sunny day. 

"Is this seat taken?" asks a voice above me. I look up at the unfamiliar blonde man, shake my head, and scoot over to make room. He sits and pulls out a book entitled The Hitchhiker's Guide to Europe. Within seconds, he is engrossed. I sigh and go back to sightseeing. 

"Well, it's not as good as Hogwarts, a History," the man next to me later mutters, almost to himself, "but it is a good piece of work." I look over at him, ignoring the twisting sensation in my stomach. The man looks up and meets my eyes, his grey eyes shining. 

"What book?" I ask politely. 

His face falls for half a second before the cold mask settles back over it. "Well, I wouldn't suppose you would know about it." 

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," I say as the bus rumbles to a halt. "Excuse me, this is my stop." He stands to let me through, and as I walk down the aisle, I can feel the eyes of Draco Malfoy burning into the back of my head, wondering why I lied to him. Quite frankly, I'm not so sure myself. 

I disembark and pull my umbrella out from my bag. With one quick snap, it opens and I continue down the streets of Muggle London. As I go to the street corner to check my current location, the toe of my shoe catches on a crack on the sidewalk and I fall. 

"Oh, miss! Are you all right?" A burly man rushes to my assistance and gently helps me up. I thank him and prepare to go on, when he touches my arm. I turn to look at him and he smiles awkwardly. "Um . . . miss, you wouldn't have seen a toad anywhere around here, would you?" 

I smile. "No, I'm sorry. Good luck in finding him, though." With that said, I hurry on my way. I go to the corner and look up at the street sign, realizing that I am totally, utterly, and completely lost. I groan and go to the relative privacy of a doorway, taking my phone from my purse and dialing a number. 

A click. "We're sorry, this number has been disconnected. Please hang up and try your call again." 

Oh. That's right. 

I dial another number, and this time, it rings. 

"Hello?" 

"Ron? It's me . . . I got to London, but I'm totally lost . . . where am I supposed to be?" 

He chuckles sadly. "You never were much on common sense, were you? Where are you?" 

I lean out of the doorway and check the street sign again. "Sloane Street." 

"Really? That's where-" He cuts himself off. "Flag down a taxi and go to the Regency Hotel at 100 Queen's Gate. I'll meet you in the lobby, okay?" 

"Okay. Thanks. 'Bye." 

" 'Bye." 

We hang up and I flag down a taxi. The driver is very old and genial, and he speaks with a heavy Cockney accent. 

"Where to, my luvly?" he asks, turning to look me over. 

"100 Queen's Gate, please." 

"Awright, ffen." He starts the car and weaves his way through the traffic. "So, does a pretty one like yer 'ave a boymucker?" 

I freeze. "What?" 

"A boychina. Certainly yer've got one-yer're too pretty ter be singgle." He catches my eye in the rearview and winks, I know he's just playing around. 

"N-no. Not at the moment." 

"Oh, I see. Yer and yor boymate 'ave a tiff, ffen?" 

"Not . . . really." I guess my tone of voice tells the man that he's gone too far, because he shuts up for the rest of the ride. We arrive at the Queen's Gate and I pay him, telling him to keep the change. 

"Thanks, right, luvly! Struth!" he says with a smile, and drives off. I shake my head and go into the hotel. A tall, lean man with red hair is sitting on the couch in the lobby, staring up at the TV, but not really watching it. 

"Ron," I say. 

He looks up sharply, then his face softens and splits into a smile. "Hi." His eyes rake over me, and I see he pays special attention to my left hand. "You look pretty good." 

"Thanks. You're not so bad yourself." He stands and comes over to me, giving me a hug and a peck on the cheek. 

"I can see what he saw in you," he murmurs. My chest tightens and I can feel tears pricking at my eyes. 

"Ron . . ." 

He pulls away from me then. "Come on upstairs. I've reserved rooms for us." He leads me to the elevator. 

On the ride up, Ron takes a moment to inform me of what was going on. 

"The funeral's tomorrow," is the first thing he says. I flinch, and he apologizes. "Sorry. Anyway, we're having it at York Cemetery." 

The doors of the elevator split open, allowing us entrance to the hallway. We exit and continue walking down the hall. 

"How did you . . . find out?" I ask. 

He sighs heavily and rubs his forehead. "I got an owl from the Ministry of Magic. I rushed to the hospital to see him, but by then . . ." His voice cracks, and he coughs to cover it. " . . . it was too late. How about you?" 

"Same thing. I felt terrible about not being able to go, but I was so far away . . ." 

Of course. It makes perfect sense that I would be sent to Romania the same week my fiancé is killed. Funny how things work out that way . . . 

Dammit . . . 

It's raining today, too. 

His funeral is so crowded. I'm not surprised, of course, Harry was a popular guy. 

I flinch inwardly at my unconscious use of the past tense. It's not like I have a choice of tenses, anyway. According to the letter Fudge sent me, he never had a chance. He'd lost so much blood . . . 

Tears flood my eyes. 

Harry, why did you have to die? Why did you have to leave us? Why did you leave me? 

I bite my lip and wipe at my eyes. My engagement ring scrapes over my eyelid lightly. 

And why couldn't I have been there when you needed me? 

"Harry Potter, or the Boy Who Lived, survived an attack by Lord Voldemort when he was one year old," Fudge continues. "It is ironic, then, that he lost his precious life to a Muggle automobile." 

Soft murmurs of agreement. 

"We now inter Harry into the earth from which he-and we all-came, and to which we will return. Bless all of you, and keep his memory alive." 

I look down at the bouquet of roses Ron bought for me and pick out the one rose that is not fully bloomed yet. As my beloved's coffin is lowered into the ground, I throw the flower into the rectangular hole. 

"Good-bye, Harry," I whisper. "Until we meet again." 

The wind whistles around me, carrying his voice. 

Until we meet again, good-bye, my love . . . 

. . . my darling . . . 

. . . my Ginny. 

_you are just my love_

_i want to be at your side, to gaze at you_

_please grant this wish..._

_i want to fall asleep,_

_holding you in my arms_

_in the same night, we share the sorrow_

_because i want to believe in love_

* * *

Harry, Ginny, Ron, Fudge, and anyone else mentioned is © J.K. Rowling. The song, "You're Just My Love", is © TV Tokyo and Toei Animation. 

Like what you see? Then please visit Opportunity Knocks Productions at http://kiss.to/okp for more fanfics, Final Fantasies, The Anime Tarot, and lots more besides! 


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